


Where The Heart Is

by andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: #danneedsstorage, Dan and Phil Secret Santa, Gen, I don't specify, New house, POV Outsider, can be read as romantic or platonic, it's up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknight1512/pseuds/andthenshesaid-write
Summary: Two young men have moved into the house across the street and Martha plucks up the courage to go over and welcome them to the neighbourhood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [our-dark-dreams](http://our-dark-dreams.tumblr.com/) in last year's Dan and Phil Secret Santa.  
> Originally posted [here](http://danandphilsecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/155580620525/where-the-heart-is).

The first time Martha sees them, she’s in her front yard. She’s just been out to collect the mail – bills, only ever bills these days – and stopped to pull some weeds peeping out of the soil between the rhododendrons, when the taxi pulls up in front of the house across the street. The house has been on the market for a few weeks now, and Martha has seen a number of people come and go from it – ambitious singles, loved-up young couples, weary parents with children trailing them like ducklings. There were even a few retirees once. These two, though – they’re different.

They unfold themselves out of the taxi, so tall they make it look like a clown car. They’re both dark-haired and pale-skinned. The one on the right stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a pair tighter than Martha has ever seen in her life. They’re black, like his jacket, t-shirt and shoes. The other one is also wearing black jeans, but they’re looser, and his shirt is a checked blue. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder and a set of brightly-coloured folders clutched in his hands.

The real estate agent appears in the doorway and hurries down the front path to meet them. She ushers them forward and Blue Shirt looks down at something in his folders as he follows her into the house. The black-clothed one pauses on the front step, shading his eyes to look up towards the second storey, and then turns to look around the street. He catches Martha’s eye for a moment but he shuffles into the house before she has a chance to even think about a warm, welcoming wave.

* * *

Martha honestly doesn’t ever expect to see them again. She notices when the SOLD sign goes up but it’s been a few weeks since the young men were there, and a few other people have looked at the house since then. But then the moving van arrives, and the black-clothed one maneuvers a car into the driveway, and there’s a swarm of people in and out of the house all day and, just like that, Martha has new neighbours.

No one really sees them the first few days but that’s hardly surprising. Judging by the number of boxes they brought with them when they moved in, they’re likely still unpacking and looking for all the things they probably misplaced during the move. Everyone is curious about them, though – they’re the talk of the street. They live on a cul-de-sac, where everyone knows everyone and no one ever really leaves. When Martha moved in five years ago, the family across the street had already been there fifteen years, and the parents only moved away when their youngest went off to university at the other end of the country.

The young men have been there a week and a half when Martha decides that it’s time to be neighbourly and introduce herself. She digs a nice pair of shoes out of the closet, layers a plate with her signature jammie dodgers and crosses the road. There’s a doorbell that chimes a charming little melody inside the house, then heavy footsteps and the door is pulled open by Blue Shirt. He’s wearing a t-shirt today, with an ice-cream on it, and a pair of black-framed glasses.

“Hi!” he says and smiles a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m Martha. I live at number four.” She points over her shoulder. “I just thought I’d come over and introduce myself. Welcome you to the neighbourhood and all that. These are for you.” She holds out the plate of biscuits.

“Oh! Thank you!” He takes the plate and steps aside. “Would you like to come in? I was just about to make some coffee.”

Her mother always said it was rude to reject a cup of tea or coffee so she says, “Thank you. That would be lovely,” and follows him into the house.

She has to step around the half-unpacked boxes, labelled “Kitchen” and “Office”, lining the hallway. When she peeks into the lounge room, she sees that they’ve got the TV and various consoles hooked up, and the shelves are already mostly filled with DVDs and books and knick knacks. The priorities in this house are fairly clear.

“I’m Phil, by the way,” he says, leading her into the kitchen. He waves her into one of the brightly coloured chairs at the dining table and sets the plate in the centre. “It’s nice to meet you. We were just saying this morning that there’s only a limited window in which we can meet our neighbours before it’s too late and we have to spend the rest of our time here awkwardly avoiding everyone.”

Martha assumes that “we” includes the black-clothed one. There’s something in the casual way Phil doesn’t explain who he’s talking about, as if he hasn’t even thought about it, as if he’s forgotten how.

“Excuse me,” he says and stops to flick the kettle on, on his way to the door. He pokes his head into the hallway and calls, “Dan! Come down here! We have a guest!” There’s a muffled response from somewhere upstairs but that must be good enough for Phil because he strolls over to the cupboards and pulls one open to reveal what looks like a hundred mugs.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says and shifts three mugs onto the counter. “Tea? Coffee? Or hot chocolate? We have powder here somewhere…” He opens the pantry and starts pushing things aside.

“Tea, thank you. Milk, no sugar.”

He nods and drops a tea bag into one of the mugs, then fills the other two with instant coffee and sugar. He measures everything out thoughtlessly.

There’s a thumping on the stairs and the black-clothed one – Dan, she reminds herself, though he’s dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans again – appears in the doorway. He pulls back slightly, as if he’s startled to see her sitting there, and then smiles awkwardly.

“Hello,” he says.

“This is Martha,” Phil explains, pouring the boiled water into the mugs. “She lives across the street. She brought us welcome-to-the-neighbourhood biscuits!”

Dan’s eyes drop to the biscuits on the table and then he rolls them at Phil. “You would befriend the dodgiest person in the world if they offered you a plate of sugar.” Then his eyes widen and he hurriedly holds out his palms towards her. “Not that you’re dodgy! I’m sure you’re perfectly nice. But seriously, Phil would actually follow a masked man down a dark alley if he was promised sweets at the end of it. He missed the lesson on stranger danger in school.”

Phil shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, Martha. He’s just jealous because he knows I’ll eat more of the biscuits than him.”

He brings over a mug that’s almost too full and lowers it gently to the table in front of her, so as not to spill any. The mug is completely white, except for a black nose and whiskers near the rim. Dan grabs the other two mugs – one is black, with “Game of Thrones” written on the side, and the other has Mickey Mouse on it – and brings them to the table. Martha isn’t sure if they both just happen to take their coffee the same way, but he doesn’t seem to give any thought to handing the Mickey Mouse mug to Phil.

“This is Dan,” Phil says, when they’re all seated. “We live together.”

Obviously. But she doesn’t say that, even though there’s no further explanation. She can’t quite put her finger on the nature of their relationship, but they move around each other like they’ve been doing it a long time, like they’re used to filling each other’s gaps.

She nods and nudges the plate towards them. “Please, have a biscuit.”

Dan doesn’t need telling twice. His hand shoots out and grabs one off the top. He gives it a generous dunk in his coffee and then bites it in half.

“Mmmm,” he says and she hides a smile in her mug. “These are delicious. Better than anything we’ve ever baked, hey Phil?” He nudges Phil with his elbow.

“So what brings you here?” Martha asks. “Are you new to London?”

Dan shakes his head, because Phil currently has a mouth full of jammie dodger. “No. Well, we’re new to this part of London. We lived in an apartment in the city for years but we outgrew it. Dan needs storage!” Then he laughs a self-conscious laugh that trails off and grabs another biscuit.

“You’ll find the pace of life a bit slower here than it is in the centre,” Martha says.

“That’s part of why we like it,” says Phil, brushing the crumbs off his fingers. “We’ve had a busy couple of years and we’re ready to slow down a little bit. Live a quieter life. Try new things. And we really want a dog. But we still want to be close enough to go in when we need to.”

“What do you two do?”

They exchange a glance that speaks volumes.

“We’re editors,” Dan eventually says.

“Of books?”

“Of...films and visual stuff like that.”

“Oh! Anything I would’ve seen?”

Dan chuckles and shrugs, shaking his head. “I doubt it. How about you?”

“I’m a writer. Freelance, mostly. I like it because I get to work from home in my pyjamas, at whatever time of day or night I choose.”

Dan’s face relaxes into a smile and he nods easily. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

They make a bit more small talk until Martha has finished her tea. It’s not awkward exactly, they’re very welcoming and don’t make any subtle indications that they’re trying to rush her out the door. But they’re edgy in a way she can’t describe, as if they’re not really used to interacting with anyone but each other. Maybe they’re not. They’ve implied that they work from home, and she knows how hard it is to meet people in that situation. It’s part of the reason her poor mother despairs that she’ll never find a husband.

So she does them a favour and swallows down the last of her tea quickly. “Well, thank you for the tea,” she says, rising from her chair. “It was so nice to meet you both but I'd better get going. I do actually have to do some work today, and I'm sure you've got things you want to do as well.”

She waves a hand when Dan offers her the plate, still half-filled with biscuits. “No, no. You keep them. I can’t possibly eat all those on my own.” She waits while Dan digs a clean plate out of a cupboard to transfer the leftovers onto. Then, they both walk her to the door.

“Thanks for coming over, Martha,” Phil says.

“And thanks for the biscuits,” says Dan.

“You’re welcome. Please, just come over anytime if you need anything. I’m almost always home.”

But she understands, as she crosses back over the street, that they’re not going to have that kind of relationship. Even from just the small amount she’s seen of them, she knows that Dan and Phil have learnt to meet life’s challenges together, without involving other people. Sure, she’ll see them out and about. They’ll wave at each other when they collect the mail, or mow the lawn, or tend to the garden. They’ll say hello and have a brief but polite conversation when they pass each other on the street. But it won’t go deeper than that.

It’s not like her relationship with her other neighbours but, after meeting them, Martha finds she’s okay with that. Dan and Phil exist in their own little bubble. She would hate to be the one to pop it.


End file.
